


Warden of the Black Library

by Lusty_Commissar



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Black Library (craftworld), Cunnilingus, Dominant female/submissive male, Experienced female/virginal male, F/M, Fellatio, Harlequin, Heresy!, Human/eldar, Male prisoner, Oral Sex, Tenderness, Woman on Top, hurt/comfort vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:42:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24825502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lusty_Commissar/pseuds/Lusty_Commissar
Summary: Trystan, a young scribe, is the last survivor of a disastrous Inquisition expedition into the mysterious Black Library. Having fled the site of the massacre and found refuge among the bookshelves, he knows he cannot hide forever from the Solitaire patrolling the silent halls of the craftworld. When she finds him, she will surely kill him.But said Solitaire, Essylin, is growing lonely after decades of isolation and has other plans for the trespasser...
Relationships: Male scribe OC/Female Solitaire OC
Comments: 7
Kudos: 40





	Warden of the Black Library

_**Day 14,643:**_ _A ship from the Imperium somehow found its way through the Webway and to the Black Library. I had to re-ensoul 20 wraithbone constructs to deal with their boarding party. After the souls of our brothers and sisters were returned to the Infinity Circuit, I discovered a trail of blood leading away from the site of battle, then eventually stopping. There is a mon-keigh loose in the Black Library. I will cordon off areas and search them one by one. The interloper cannot hide forever._

 _ **Day 14,647:**_ _Only one area left to search._ ~~_Wonder if male or female. By Cegorach, it’s been decades since I got laid._~~

_-The log of Essylin, Solitaire and Warden of the Black Library_

Trystan knew there was no point in hiding. The masked woman who was after him was too methodical; once she got to him, there would be no escaping her. So with nothing better to do, the young Adeptus Administratum scribe sat down and began copying some of the ancient Eldar texts that he found on the shelves. His chances of making it out of here with some ancient knowledge about Chaos seemed remote, but at least, doing his job (no matter how futilely) allowed him to forget his fear of death and the pain of his freshly-dressed wound.

Better to die a scribe than a wretched creature huddling in a corner.

The warden found Trystan after what felt like several days. She just strode into the room at a leisurely pace, not even bothering to sneak up on him. She was taller than he was, and dressed in a multicolored cloak, high boots and gloves. She wore a white mask with beautiful, androgynous features and two horns, marking her as one of those dreaded Solitaires tasked with protecting the Black Library. Her hands toyed with two wickedly curved knives.

“A seeker of knowledge,” she hissed. Her voice sounded young. “Ah, but I am afraid the knowledge of the Black Library comes with a steep price. That price is—”

“I know you Harlequins love theatrics, but I don’t,” Trystan cut her off in a resigned sigh. “Just get it over with.” He set his parchment aside to avoid letting it get stained with his blood, took off his glasses, and offered his throat to her knives.

She paused and tilted her head, as if confused by his lack of fear. “Not yet, little mon-keigh. I have questions that need answers. Who sent you here?”

Trystan decided it was no use hiding anything at this point. “Inquisitor Deidre Kryden of the Ordo Xenos. You’ve killed her already. She was acting independently, and she alone knew how to find this place. You don’t have to fear another expedition.”

The Solitaire was silent for a moment. “You seem to be telling the truth.”

“I couldn’t lie to save my life.”

She chuckled mirthlessly. “Not that your life could be saved now, no matter how well you lied. Tell me, what was your role in this expedition?”

“I’m only a copyist.”

“I see. Can you even read our language?”

Trystan nodded. “That’s why they conscripted me.”

“Quite rare for a mon-keigh to learn a complex language like ours. How long did it take you?”

“A year.”

“Only a year!”

“I’m gifted with tongues.”

“Is that so?” Unmistakeable amusement.

“I, uh, learned it on a bet.”

Though her face was masked, the Solitaire’s body language conveyed confusion. “Did you just say… you learned our language on a bet?”

“It was during my studies on Terra,” said Trystan. He reddened with embarrassment. “I, uh, got a bit drunk… for the first and last time in my life… and I bragged there was no language—human or xenos— that I couldn’t learn. A girl from my class challenged me to learn Eldar. So I did. It was hard. Many sleepless nights. But I managed. And look where all that effort got me…”

The Solitaire broke out in a sudden laugh that startled Trystan. “That girl… did you fancy her?”

Trystan felt his cheeks heat up. “So what if I did?” he said defensively, unsure why someone about to cut his throat was asking about his love life.

“Was the girl impressed, at least?”

“Oh, no. By then she’d forgot all about the bet. And since she couldn’t read Eldar herself, I couldn’t prove to her that I really could. I should have thought of that beforehand.”

“Where is she now?”

“Still on Terra working for the Administratum, I imagine. Haven’t seen her since graduating.”

With the liquid grace of a cat, the Solitaire leapt on top of the desk into a crouching position and brought her masked face mere inches from Trystan’s. The scribe recoiled. “Well, unlike your girl on Terra,” whispered the Solitaire, “I’m right here. And unlike her, I’m quite impressed.”

“She’s… not _my_ girl,” stammered Trystan, flustered. “Aren’t you supposed to kill me?” At this point he almost wished it, just to end this uncomfortable scrutiny.

The Solitaire did not answer. Instead she just slowly removed her mask. She looked no older than Trystan, though she must have been centuries old. Her skin was as pale as moonlight. She had soft features with a high forehead, a small nose, full lips and a pronounced philtrum. Her jet-black hair, iridescent with tones of purple and blue, was tied into a loose braid. Her eyebrows were thin but well-defined. Her amber eyes seemed to bore directly into Trystan’s soul. There was something… hungry about her general demeanor, and she exuded a strange, feral smell that sent Trystan’s hormones into overdrive. He thought he had read somewhere that Eldar produced pheromones when they were in an amorous mood.

“My name is Essylin,” she said. “And you are the first sentient being outside of a Harlequin troupe to see my face or hear my true name in many decades.”

“That’s… an honor,” said the scribe uncertainly. “I’m Trystan.”

“Did I ask _your_ name, mon-keigh? I think not.”

“…Sorry.”

Essylin just stared at him for a few heartbeats, then huffed out a soft chuckle. “Forgive me, I think my sense of humor is getting a bit rusty from lack of use. Years of isolation, you know. No one to talk to. No one to play with.” She sat on the edge of the desk, sheathed one of her knives and cupped Trystan’s chin in her gloved hand. “How long’s it been since your last time?”

Trystan gulped. “My… last time?”

“Oh my. You haven’t even had a first time, have you?”

Trystan thought he knew what she meant, but still gave a noncommittal answer, just in case he had the wrong idea: “I… work a lot. Eighty-hour work weeks are standard on Terra. Not much time for anything else.”

“Ah. Keeping busy. Wish I could relate. My job as a warden of the Black Library is an important one, but boring, and worst of all, dreadfully lonely.” She twirled a knife between her fingers. “Sit still and it won’t hurt.”

The scribe froze and prepared to meet the Emperor; the Solitaire was now about to cut his throat, he assumed. But she did no such thing. With a lightning-quick flick of her knife, she sliced his shirt open from collar to hem without even nicking the skin. Looking down at his torso, she quickly found the injury just above his hip, courtesy of a wraithbone construct’s blade. Trystan had dressed it to the best of his ability after escaping the massacre of the boarding party, but had not tended to it since then. It was starting to smell a bit.

“You’re letting it get infected,” Essylin chided.

Trystan’s protest about the unnecessary damage to a perfectly good shirt died in his throat as Essylin began tending to his injury. She undid the crude bandages, cleaned the wound, smeared it with a sweet-smelling unguent that dulled the pain and sewed it closed with a needle and thread. Her gloved hands worked fast and skillfully, her face very close to Trystan’s chest, and a couple of times the scribe had to remind himself to breathe; especially when her pointy eartips brushed against his torso in a way that did not seem accidental. Emperor forgive him, the xenos warrior was beautiful. Terrifying, but beautiful.

“There. Now you’ll live,” she said at last.

“So you still need me alive?”

Her amber eyes gleamed with what looked like amusement. “Why? Would you rather die?”

“Uh… not if it can be avoided.”

“Good.” She grabbed his white-blond hair at the scruff of his neck and unceremoniously planted a kiss on his lips.

Trystan’s eyes widened. Had… had that really just happened? He sat there, stunned, while Essylin’s mouth still hovered temptingly close to his. He could feel her warm breath against his face. He tried to will himself to pull away, but there was not much self-control left in him. He kissed her back before he knew what he was doing. He was tentative at first, as if wanting to make sure he was allowed, but as she put her tongue into it, he too grew more eager. She tasted of cherries and vanilla and a dozen different things. Or perhaps his limited human senses were just trying to translate into something familiar a taste that was utterly alien to them? One way or the other, she tasted good.

She was the first to break off the kiss to catch her breath, trailing a thread of saliva. “Clumsy… but enthusiastic,” she breathed. Her eyes shone brightly, like glowing embers.

“…I’m sorry about that…?”

“Don’t be,” she purred, scratching him behind the ear like a dog. “It’s better than the reverse. Skill can be taught; enthusiasm cannot.”

She leapt on top of him, causing the chair to topple. Before Trystan could yelp in alarm, Essylin’s mouth was on his again. Eyes closed, he felt as if he was falling backwards for much too long. His heart lurched. When he opened his eyes again, he was lying on his back on top of a plush bed, in a completely different room. The Solitaire was straddling him. She peeled off her gloves and slammed her palms into his chest to pin him to the mattress.

“Where are we?” Trystan asked, startled.

Essylin put a slender finger to his lips. “Hush, little mon-keigh. I opened a portal to my bedroom. More comfortable here. You will now stop asking questions, or worrying, or apologizing. You’re mine now, and believe me, I take very good care of what’s mine.”

She drew her upper body to its full height, unbuttoned her cloak at the front and let it fall and gather around her hips. She wore nothing underneath. Her skin was bluish-white, flawless and hairless. Her breasts were moderate in size, but so perky and round that they seemed about to burst, with purple nipples. Her teardrop-shaped navel was pierced by a ring with a tiny red gem.

“How do I look?” she asked.

“Stunning,” said Trystan, truthfully.

“Better than the girl on Terra you wanted to impress?”

“Much better.”

“Aww. I like you.” Her thin hand teasingly brushed the bulge at the front of Trystan’s pants. “And as long as I like you, you get to stay alive.”

She leaned forward and all but shoved one of her breasts into Trystan’s mouth. The scribe licked the areola and sucked on the dark nipple until it became hard under his lips. By now the smell of the Eldar’s pheromones was overpowering.

“Let me feel those teeth,” cooed Essylin as she kissed his forehead. “Not too hard. Yes. Yesss. That’s a good boy.”

The scribe tried to force his mind to remain coherent. “Is that your spirit stone?” he asked, sliding a finger down her stomach until it rested on the gem on her navel.

She shook her head. “No, just jewelry. We Solitaires don’t wear spirit stones.”

Her fingers snaked inside Trystan’s pants, clutched their prize and began rubbing expertly. Trystan’s breathing became more halting.

“Then… how do you protect yourselves… from Slaanesh?” he panted.

“We put our faith in the Laughing God to snatch our souls away from She Who Thirsts.”

“And… does he always succeed?”

Essylin stopped rubbing the now fully-erect member, her brow creasing with annoyance. This seemed to be the sort of subject she did not like to dwell upon. “Listen to me carefully, my inquisitive little mon-keigh,” she hissed. “I will now be using my mouth, and if I hear you utter a single question about me, or my people, or She Who Thirsts, I will unman you with my teeth.” She bared her pearly-white teeth for emphasis.

Trystan nodded frantically. Satisfied to have gotten her message across, Essylin pulled down the scribe’s pants, leaned forward between his parted thighs and took him into her mouth. Her Eldar tongue was narrower than a human’s, but longer, pointier, more agile. She had rough tastebuds that Trystan could feel with each hungry stroke. One of her hands was clutching his hip for support, while the other massaged his scrotum hard, almost to the threshold of pain. Through it all, she made soft _mmm_ sounds and never broke eye contact with him. She was indescribably good. Not that Trystan had much of a frame of reference, but he was convinced that few human women approached this level of skill. He could feel there was raw passion in her, and not just a wish to get it over with.

 _Xenos are deceptive,_ he tried to remind himself. _Eldar especially. Never trust an Eldar, and especially not a servant of the Laughing God. Maybe she’s trying to enslave you somehow._

But by the time Essylin brought him to climax, he no longer cared. If enjoying this made him a heretic, then let him be a heretic; no one would know, except the Emperor. She swallowed every drop, though she seemed slightly surprised by the amount of it.

“Must be why you mon-keighs are so damn fertile,” she muttered, frowning, as she wiped her chin with the back of her hand and licked her fingers.

Trystan was not sure what to answer to that. “I… guess so.”

Essylin rolled her eyes. “And I thought _I_ was bad at conversation after all this time alone. Ah, well. Good thing we’re not here to talk.”

With a wicked smile, she crawled over him, rubbing her breasts against his torso as she moved towards the bed head. She locked her thighs around Trystan’s head and brought her sweet-smelling vulva right under his nose.

“Alright. Let’s see about that _gift with tongues_ of yours, shall we?”

Trystan started devouring the proffered meal. He was a sloppy eater, but his appetite was not lacking, and he was determined to lick the plate clean. Essylin scratched his head encouragingly whenever he was doing well, and twisted a lock of hair sharply whenever his tongue began to stray from her pleasure centers; of which she seemed to have more than one. Her breathing was deep, as Trystan could see from the way her chest was heaving. She arched her back in pleasure. Through the Solitaire’s clamped thighs, the scribe could feel her heartbeats in his cheeks, hear them in his ears. They seemed slow and almost ponderous to him, but that must have been normal; he vaguely remembered reading somewhere that Eldar had a much slower heart rate than humans, despite being faster in all other ways.

“By Cegorach, you eat like an animal,” whispered Essylin, raking her fingers through his hair. “No, don’t apologize; right now I want an animal in my bed. Hmm, yes, good. You’re a fast learner. I’ll train you very well—you’ll see. It’s not as if we have much else to do.”

Her taste was salty and sweet and many other things that there was no adequate human word to describe. Most of all, she tasted _alien_. Trystan tried to lap up everything she gave him, but missed some, which dribbled down his chin and his cheeks and left the entire lower half of his face glistening wetly.

Essylin’s hand once again wandered between Trystan’s legs. “Getting hard again, hmm? That was fast. I’d almost envy you mon-keighs, if it weren’t for your short lifespan.”

She took up her knife and, with just a few quick slashes, shredded Trystan’s pants and underwear as well as his already-damaged shirt. He had not a shred of clothing left on him.

“Hey!” protested Trystan weakly.

Essylin’s teeth shone. “Aww, what’s the matter? Was there somewhere you needed to go afterwards? There is no afterwards for you.” She propped herself up on one elbow and kissed him on the nose. “This is where you live now, little mon-keigh.”

“My name is—”

“I’ll call you however I like. I’m the warden of the Black Library. You belong to this place now, and therefore, to me.”

She clamped her thighs around Trystan’s hips and slowly impaled herself on his erect member. Though her insides were sopping wet by now, it took her several laborious hip thrusts to fit the entire length inside her. Trystan did not have much machismo in him, but could not help but feel pride at the implication that human males had more girth that Eldar males.

“Yes, you’re big,” sighed the Solitaire with an eyeroll, seemingly reading his mind. “That’s what you wanted to hear, wasn’t it? I swear, boys are all alike, regardless of race.”

She rode him slowly, trying to make it last. She pressed her warm, smooth chest against his and locked her lips with his. She was not a screamer, but once in a while, her deep sighs of pleasure turned into soft moans. Her thin fingers raked his flesh and left long red marks on his shoulders and sides. She nestled her face in the crook of his neck to lick his Adam’s apple.

“Use your hands, for Cegorach’s sake,” she whispered. “I feel like I’m the only one here doing any work.”

Trystan obliged and began stroking the entire length of Essylin’s spine, rubbing the small of her arching back, fingering her navel, squeezing her thighs, spreading her buttocks. He did not find a single mole or body hair on her surface, though she did have a few scars here and there; probably inevitable, when you lived for so long as a warrior. He undid her braid and slid his fingers through her wealth of blue-black hair. As her hands explored her shape, a soft purr rose up her throat and she grew more relaxed. Trystan rolled over to get Essylin under him. She looked startled at first, but did not resist the reversal of positions. In fact, she even seemed to view Trystan’s newfound sense of initiative as a victory for her.

He increased the strength of his thrusts, as if trying to slice the Solitaire open from groin to heart. She panted and squealed. Her hand reached around his hips and slid a mischievous finger up his anus. His own hands pressed against her temples and immobilized her head against the pillow as he began to nibble on the tip of one of her pointy ears. Her amber eyes widened and, incredibly, she blushed. Trystan guessed that, to the Eldar race, sucking someone’s eartips was even more intimate than anything else the two of them had done so far. She did not, however, say or do anything that suggested Trystan had overstepped any boundaries.

They climaxed at the same time, and this brief instant seemed to stretch for an eternity and a half. Trystan felt it not only in his body but also in the deepest recesses of his soul. On a less poetic side, they also ended up making a bit of a sticky mess on each other and on the bed.

“Cegorach…” whispered Essylin, out of breath.

Trystan almost said _Emperor_ , but decided it was probably not an appropriate thing to utter after being intimate with a xenos. Even if he somehow made it out of here and back to the Imperium, he could never show his face in a church again. He was forever tainted by his association with an alien. And to tell the truth, he had no regrets whatsoever.

He came to rest by Essylin’s side. The Eldar pressed her cheek against his heart and offered him an eartip to suck on.

“I don’t think you realize…” she said, after several minutes. “Among the Eldar, only life mates do this, the ear-sucking. Never one-night partners. It can take decades, even centuries, before a relationship gets to this stage. If it ever does.” She sighed. “But I’ll never have a life mate. Solitaires renounce all attachments. So I might as well enjoy this special pleasure, even from a mon-keigh. No one will ever know about it and judge me for it.”

She paused, and sorrow dawned in her eyes. “The answer to your question about the Laughing God is no,” she said, almost inaudibly. “There is no certainty that Cegorach can save a Solitaire’s soul from She Who Thirsts. The Great Enemy may very well end up devouring my soul after I die, and if she does, I will know only unspeakable torment and violation for all eternity.”

Trystan was silent for a moment, a knot in his throat. “Are you afraid?”

Essylin’s eyes glistened with tears. “Afraid? I’m terrified. Every time I stop to think about it, my blood turns to ice and I can hardly breathe. I think all Solitaires feel the same, no matter how much they try to hide it behind bravado.”

“I… don’t suppose there’s anything I can do?” The question sounded stupid to Trystan before he had even finished uttering it.

“You can make my life less lonely,” she answered. “Because memories of it are the only thing that’ll give me comfort for the rest of eternity, if Cegorach fails me.”

Trystan kissed Essylin on the lips and licked some of the tears now streaming freely from her eyes. After a few minutes, he asked: “What happens to me now?”

She shrugged. “Well, you have no ship, and I can’t leave the Black Library unattended to fly you anywhere. So I guess you’re staying here. You can pass the time by reading while I do my daily rounds and maintenance. But when my work day is over? I want you back in my bed.”

Trystan nodded serenely. Thousands of books and an Eldar lover did not sound like a bad life. “For how long will you be on warden duty here?”

“Another Terran century or so. After that, we’ll see. Maybe you’ll be passed on to my successor, if he or she wants company.”

“Oh. Well, I won’t live that long.”

“The Black Library lies outside the flow of time. You’ll live for as long as this place exists.”

Trystan tried to imagine just how much reading he might be able to do during that time.

Another silence. Then, Essylin asked: “Ready to go again?”

“Hmm. I think so, yes.”

“Good.” She rolled onto her stomach and slapped her own buttock. “Get to work, mon-keigh. Make me forget my doom.”


End file.
